


i could light a match

by chalmskinn



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bad Poetry, Camping, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Thor (2011), Pseudo-Incest, Sexual Tension, Wine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28555155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalmskinn/pseuds/chalmskinn
Summary: Thor, the Warriors Three, and Sif had stumbled through the Bifrost, cheering of some vague victory in Alfheim, and a feast had been called with barely enough time for him to bathe, deal with the dark shadows under his eyes, and change into garments that weren’t three days past their best.Loki supposes that, maybe, reluctantly, he did miss Thor.
Relationships: Fandral & Sif, Loki & Thor (Marvel), Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	1. head clasped in my hands

Thor’s smile is enigmatic, and he beams, and it’s so warm, inviting, and when he laughs, or rumbles, it’s intoxicating. It’s like the thickest of dessert wines, apricot and honey, dancing on the palate, winding up the sinuses, and sitting heavy on the brow.

His eyes drop from the blinding white smile and the sky blue eyes that dart towards him. His left, dominant hand shudders so very slightly, whereas his right hand is perfectly still. He tries to drown out the laughter, the cause of which he was not privy to, with the lilting laugh of his mother. The corners of his mouth pick up with the sound of her voice, and she nudges him oh-so very gently with her shoulder, the encrusted gems of her sleeve jabbing him in his forest green velvet.

The sugared berries on his plate don’t seem to be disappearing as they usually do. Thor sits beside their father tonight, as he always does as heir on these formal occasions (a weak excuse for a formal occasion). He leans forward enough for Loki to catch a glance, to catch some of the terribly dull conversation he has with Týr, only for Volstagg to thump down between them, and make the chat so much more entertaining for all. This is when Thor’s polite smile turns to his excitable and toothy grin, and the drink starts to pour, and Loki’s eyes wander from his shaky hand to the quietly disdainful general, who slowly realises that he is sitting with a child and his childish man-friend.

He steadies his left hand with the smallest flash of seidr, which vibrates through his entire arm. Frigga’s soft hand catches at his wrist, uncovered where his vambrace has raised slightly, revealing green ink veins. Her thumb traces the lines, and she smiles, her other hand touching his back very gently. Her voice is low, quiet, and has a delicious tinge of mischief when she speaks, “I’d say you only have to stay another fifteen minutes before your brother’s friends call outrage at your absence.” She tips some of her syrupy wine into Loki’s goblet, and the rims of the cups kiss gently. Her eyes are the same caramel of the wine in the goblets. “It’s as if they’d never been on a quest to Alfheim before. I don’t know why your father indulges their every victorious exploit. Ah, as long as everybody is having a lovely time.” 

Loki clinks his cup against Frigga’s with a little more vigour than she’d expected for that statement. He leans back, and lets the wine tip down his throat, and he leans back. Thor is chugging what Loki can only assume to be some cheap smelling mead provided by one of the feast’s huge breasted serving wenches. From one of Fandral’s novelty horns, no less.

Thor drops the outlandish diamond encrusted horn down to his lap, and leans back, smiling so widely at Loki. His right eye closes to wink, but his right eye also closes, catlike, and Loki smirks. Thor’s verbena, cotton, breezy scent must be taking on notes of honey, beads of mead dripping so slightly from his unkempt beard. His smile moves like honey too. Loki looks away, and skewers what must be a blackberry on his dessert fork. It’s sweeter than he’d have hoped for when he swallows, but it must be to pair this Vanaheim wine. He pushes his plate away, and Frigga raises her eyebrow. “Too sweet, my darling boy?” Again, her voice is but a whisper in the symphony of Aesir voices, low enough for their neighbours to not detect.

“It’s just so… Thor.” He mutters, squashing a raspberry against his plate. “Nothing unexpected. In all of this.” He places the fork into his mouth, and he sucks the tart pink juices from the skewers. He could swear on the Norns that Thor’s laughter falters, and his eyes dart to his left, when Loki’s cheeks hollow around the cutlery. 

“Perhaps a Vanir kirsch would have worked better.” Frigga muses. “Alas, Thor’s choices tonight. Nothing wrong with a little sweetness every now and then though, Loki.” She sneaks a redcurrant from his plate. “That wasn’t sweet. Go for those.” Her hand cups his elbow gently, and she turns away from him, whispers something into Odin’s ear, and she floats away towards the end of the table to chat with some of her favoured ladies of the court.

Loki feels intimidated by the Frigga shaped distance between him and his father. He turns to see if Freyja may engage in conversation with him, but as she has been all night, is already occupied with Eir, and their chat has been detailing vivid descriptions of dramatic birth stories that they’d seen in their years. Although interesting, Loki reasons that he cannot add any useful insights, or give any anecdotes that would be as entertaining as Freyja’s stories have been.

He resigns himself to staring at his plate until the table starts to disperse more. The shudder in his hand slowly starts back up, and he looks down at his twitching fingers, and decides to wait no longer. He’s got lots to do in his chambers. 

He’d left a huge pile of books on his floor, with the intention to catalogue them in a way that may be seen as controversial. But then Thor, the Warriors Three, and Sif had stumbled through the Bifrost, cheering of some vague victory in Alfheim, and a feast had been called with barely enough time for him to bathe, deal with the dark shadows under his eyes, and change into garments that weren’t three days past their best.

Though he admits, to himself only, and never to anyone else, that maybe he’s been bored without Thor to annoy, and to annoy him. That perhaps he should have also gone on the quest, as the research he’d been doing really had been done maybe a week into Thor’s departure, leaving a month or so of pretending to be busy. Which is why he has a pile of books on his floor, and he now regrets (again, he’d never tell anyone) un-cataloguing them to begin with.

He leaves the table quietly, and snatches a bottle of wine from an unattended tray. He pulls the cork out with his teeth as he walks to his chambers, and spits it to the floor, taking a swig of the wine. It’s light. It tastes of green apples and elderberries. He takes another swig, and his eyes flit around the corridor, looking for anyone who may have something to see about an Odinson necking wine straight from the bottle in the hallways of the palace. Lucky - there is nobody there.

The books on his floor give him an odd amount of anxiety that he cannot explain. Now Thor is home, he feels like he won’t have time to put them in the order that he wants. It makes his chest tight. So he diverts from his rooms, and he strolls out onto the palace balconies, and threads his legs through the gold rails. His ankles weave together, and he briefly considers toeing off his calfskin boots, and letting them fall to the ground. He wonders if the boots would hit the head of anyone, maybe he’d get one of the einherjar that had told him to move along when he’d been subtly eavesdropping during court - he’d have a few to hit. That makes him want to slip them off even more.

They’d return to him at some point in the next few days. He lets one fall, and hears the yelp of whomever it hits on the head. It doesn’t bring him as much joy as he’d hoped, and all he’s got now is half a pair of his favourite boots. He rolls his eyes. It was far more entertaining in his head. Thor would have laughed though. Thor would have called for the einherjar to bring the boot back up. Loki brings the bottle of wine to his lips with his left hand, that shakes so slightly, and he drinks deeply, eyes closed.

The bottle loses weight, and not from his drinks, so he lets go of it. It doesn’t fall to his chest, and soak through his velvet doublet. He doesn’t open his eyes, he just listens to the workings of a throat, and the shuffle of heavy feet behind him. Thor must have noticed his departure then, just as their mother had said. “Where’d you find this one, brother?” Loki lets himself fall to the marble floor, legs still twisted in the balcony, and he hears Thor settle next to him. 

Thor’s head comes to rest on Loki’s chest, and he smells exactly how Loki had imagined. Verbena, freshly laundered cottons, and the sky. 

He opens his eyes ever so slightly, and Thor’s face is there, beaming, his smile brighter than the stars in the sky. Loki untwists his legs, and snakes around, putting his head on Thor’s own chest. “I acquired it from the feast.” Thor raises an eyebrow. “Nobody will notice. More than enough to go around.” Thor’s thumb strokes at where Loki’s cheek dimples very slightly when he smirks. “I think everyone has moved onto that shit mead you’ve somehow acquired anyhow. You can’t blame a boy for being opportunistic.”

When Thor leans forward to press a chaste kiss to Loki’s lips, it’s not a surprise. Well, it is always a surprise. But they’ve been kissing like this for as long as he can remember. When Thor does something courageous that doesn’t give Loki second-hand embarrassment. When Loki does something that Thor thinks is wildly cunning or intelligent. Or just when they need it. Loki’s hand stops shaking.

Thor relaxes his head back onto Loki’s chest. “The elves wanted to say thank you to us for slaying their beast, and we had no need for their coin, so we took their mead instead. I thought it was a fair trade.” Loki’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he tastes the honey from the mead, and the sugar from the berries. He prefers the sweetness from Thor’s lips. “Also, nobody but you is complaining about this ‘shit mead’. Listen to them in there - it’s as if we’d defeated Surtur, not some grouchy old dragon.”

“I assume you’ve brought me some scales. Normally I’d get them myself, but alas, I had so much to do here.” He gestures towards the wine bottle, and sits up. Thor’s head falls to his lap, and he turns to face the sky, the stars twinkling in his eyes. 

Thor takes the bottle from Loki’s hand, and sips slowly, the rim of the bottle sitting lightly on his bottom lip. He sits the wine on the floor next to them, and licks his lips. “They’re already on your desk. I’ve kind of angled them atop a stack of half empty goblets.” Thor sits up, “Your chambers look as if you’d let a boar loose in them.” Loki realises why Thor had sat up, and throws a fist at him, and misses, obviously. “A boar with a taste for literature and seidr… rather than piles of it’s own shit.”

Loki stands, and looms over Thor, who is giggling like a schoolboy, and pulls on hair that has gone almost brown with sweat and dirt. “Says the filthy cave troll, who has most likely been rolling in piles of boar shit going by the stench he’s emitting right now.” He unwinds his hand from Thor’s hair, and wipes any residue on his leather trousers. “No time to bathe, then, brother? You stink like a Midgardian goat herder who has found himself trapped on a hill.”

He’s sheepish. He leans his face against Loki’s thigh, and his brows furrow. “Where’s your boot gone? Did it get lost in the cobwebs in your room?”

“I may have misplaced it. No need to worry.”

Thor judges their proximity to the balcony, and his brain ticks. He moves to thread his legs through the rails, much like Loki had earlier. “Did you drop it from the side?”

Loki rolls his eyes, and leans, peering out over Asgard. “Don’t be ridiculous, Thor.”

He scoffs. “Says the man wearing one boot.” Thor glugs on the wine to his left. “It’s like when we were boys, and mother would let us sit with her in summertime, and you’d throw her grapes from the side, and you’d try and hit the einherjar at the bottom.”

“I always do aim well, I suppose.” He begins to toe off his other boot, and readies it to drop from the balcony. It hangs delicately, only needing a little breeze to fall, but no. Thor’s hand pulls on the boot, and he lets it fall from his own fingers. A yelp follows, and Thor claps his hands together, looking up to Loki with a huge smile. “Yes, good job, Thor.”

He pushes the wine bottle toward Thor with his foot, who takes it and drinks from it. The bottle is then passed to Loki, who finishes the bottle, and resists everything inside his mind telling him to launch it from where he stands. He puts it to the floor. “We need another bottle, it seems.”

Loki sits down, and threads his legs through the balcony as well. “That should have lasted me a further twenty minutes, really.”

“I shall grab another bottle on our way to my chambers.”

He raises an eyebrow at Thor. “Shouldn’t you get back to the celebrations? I mean, they are celebrating whatever victory you had on Alfheim. I can hear Fandral boasting from here.” Loki nudges their shoulders together. “I bet he had no elven women, and merely complained about his sore back the entire quest.”

Thor laughs, and Loki can feel in his bones. “Well, he may have had one or two, but you’re certainly correct about his bloody sore back. Norns, I never thought we’d hear the end.” Thor slings an arm around Loki’s back, and he lets himself melt into the warm embrace.

“But really, your friends must be missing you. Surely they’ve got to toast to your never dying spirit, and your… magical cock. Or something unimaginative like that.”

“Well it is magical, and nobody needs much of an imagination to know the truth of it really, so you may be right.” He squeezes Loki’s upper arm, and Loki is focussing solely on the pale tops of his feet poking through the balcony. “But, we may have celebrated a tiny bit too thoroughly last night.”

Loki does recall Fandral looking a bit peaky as they emerged from the Bifrost, and Hogun looking even more grim than Loki had thought possible. “The mighty Thor, too hungover to enjoy a feast in his name. How you have fallen, brother.”

Thor places a smacking kiss on Loki’s forehead. “But not too hungover to crush a cup of wine with his baby brother.” He stands, and reaches his hand out to Loki. It’s callused from the worn leather of Mjölnir’s handle, but the gesture is soft and warm. Loki reaches his hand up, and grasps onto Thor. He pulls him up, and he slings his arm back around Loki’s shoulders. “Come along, there’s fine wines to borrow, brother.”


	2. shake it off 'til the numb stops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki returns from a trip to Vanaheim.

They’ve been rowing for hours. Well, Thor’s been rowing. Loki will occasionally get up, and jump out of the boat, and splash Thor. The weather’s warm, so they sit in loose clothing. 

As Loki has been getting in and out of the boat so often, he sits with a robe draped around him, the warm light of the setting sun turning the droplets of water on his chest into opals on his milky skin.

Thor dips his fingers into the inky water below them, and swirls them around, whirlpools spinning gently. The lake is cool against his hand, cool against Loki’s pale skin, and the sunset warm on his back.

Loki gazes up at Thor, his head lying at the bow, chest gleaming. “Did you plan for us to stay on the water this long, brother?” He strokes at his inky black hair, wet from the lake, softer than satin. “I had plans.”

Thor chuckles, placing his hand in the water, and flicking his fingers at Loki’s semi-covered chest. “What plans, brother? You’ve been back less than twelve hours. I had plans, but I rearranged them so that I could see you when you returned.”

The boat creaks as Loki leans up against it, and pushes his upper body up. He crosses his arms against his chest - his arms look more defined than the last time Thor had seen him. His biceps, though still so much smaller in comparison to Thor’s own, have filled out a lot more in the eight months that Loki has been gone. Vanaheim has done a world of good.

Loki raises his eyebrow. “What are your plans, Thor? Getting pissed at the pub with Fandral and Hogun? Hoping maybe Volstagg would be able to escape his newborn and put in an appearance? Wishing that Sif would turn up, lust in her eyes, and filth on her mind?”

Thor smiles awkwardly, and shakes his head. “No, of course not.” Obviously, he had been drinking, fighting, and whoring excessively in the time that Loki had been on his diplomatic mission to Vanaheim. “I was hoping you had not organised anything for the next two days, truly.”

“No more than writing my findings of Vanaheim in best.” Thor looks to Loki, his eyebrow now raised. “Well, better than best, I suppose. Best enough for them to consider for the great library. I doubt that father would ever deign me such approval, though.” Thor pulls Loki’s ankle onto his thigh, and strokes at the bones of his foot. Loki rolls his eyes, and looks Thor in the eye, the inky green of the lake meeting the darkening blue of the Asgardian sky.

“I’m sure that your piece will be oh-so worthy of the library, Loki. You’re so very perceptive.” Thor places a dry kiss on Loki’s ankle bone, and Loki snorts gently. “Hopefully, the Vanir will not be offended by any of the tales you have to tell of them.” Loki sits up, and smacks the back of Thor’s head, encouraging him to place a damper, messier kiss on the same ankle bone. “I am assuming that you never found yourself in any position in which you could even fathom a negative thing to say about the Vanir people.”

Loki stretches his long limbs out in the boat, loosening his muscles, and rotating his neck. His toes tickle against Thor’s chest. “Positions? Perhaps I found myself in some. Only positive though. Consensual. Erotic.” His eyes meet Thor’s, the green so very slim around the black of his pupils. “Hard, wet.”

He coughs. Straightens up. Loki drops his feet into Thor’s lap, and closes his eyes. Thor’s hands grip onto the oars of the rowing boat. His voice is sheepish and boy-like when it escapes his throat. “I’ve brought a picnic.” Loki looks up at him, his pupils decreased ever-so-slightly in size, but still boring a hole in him. “Would you rather us row to the little island over there with the rock pools, or for us to dine in my chambers?” Thor twists a strand of his hair in his finger, “Or your chambers, if you’d rather. I understand if you would, you have been away for so long, that I’m sure I’d want to be in my own space.” He laughs awkwardly, he can’t stop. “If you want your own space, you can have that though, Loki. If you do not want to spend this evening with me, I will retire happily.”

Loki keeps the same blank stare the entire time Thor speaks. He gives nothing away, and Thor’s stomach folds in on itself, and folds in on itself. He keeps smiling, and hopes that Loki cannot read any of the anxiety deep within.

“There’s a small island a little further up from the one with the rock pools that I’m quite fond of, if you’d like to go there… only if your arms aren’t too sore from all of the rowing though.”

“No, of course we can go there! I’ve bought breads, and soft cheeses, and the best cured meats in Asgard, according to Volstagg, and mother gave me some figs from her garden, and she said that they’re perfect with honey, which I’ve also brought.” His mind catches up to his mouth, and he seals his lips together. Loki’s thin lips are pressed together in a slightly amused curve, and he rolls his eyes.

“Well, get rowing then.” Green glitters between his palms which he twists, and there’s a metal and ivory flask in his hand. “Sooner we get there, the sooner I’ll share.” He smiles sweetly, and Thor raises the oars to get them to the island before the flask of whatever Loki is imbibing has run dry.

It doesn’t take very long for them to reach the island. Loki continuously criticises Thor’s form, and complains that he’ll be the one that Thor asks to readjust his back when he’s sore in the morning. Thor can’t help but agree, though that doesn’t stop him from splashing water toward the bow of the boat. Any splashes that land on Loki cause his foot to kick against Thor’s ribs sharply. Thor doesn’t mind.

Thor jumps out of the boat to pull it to shore, and Loki flashes him an irritated look as he is jolted from his lounging position. “Well, you could help.” Thor snarks, and rocks the boat from side to side in the shallow water as he pulls it towards him. Loki scowls, pockets the flask, and gathers up Thor’s bag filled with food. He slings it upon his back, and only then steps out of the boat when Thor has dragged the boat over the small shoreline stones. “Is the ground soft enough for darling Prince Loki? Does his grace need for his manservant to lay down a carpet to ensure that those royal soles are not marred?”

Loki smacks Thor at the base of his skull, drops the bag at Thor’s feet, and strolls ahead, but his steps falter. “Thor, there’re pelicans over there.”

“Yes, I see them, brother.”

“Could you… you know, chase them off?”

“Why? They’re just fishing.”

“You know why.”

Thor’s mind reels, and he’s back to when he was little, and Loki even littler.

Odin had taken them to an island not too dissimilar to this one, and had taught them the basics of fishing. Once they had grasped the basics, Odin had sat upon a seatlike rock, and his eye then glazed over, far away. He was much younger then too, and similar in looks and posture to the many statues of their grandfather Bor that they’d seen decorating the city. Thor had pushed Loki into the little stream, and he laughed at his brother’s annoyance, his boots sodden, and face miserable. Loki had then managed to grab a fish right out of the stream, momentarily triumphant, only for a pelican to come from behind him, and steal that fish from Loki’s little hand, wing knocking Loki to the floor.

“Fine.” Thor takes Mjӧlnir from his belt, and throws it in the direction of the pelicans. The pelicans turn, and their wings flap, but they turn towards Thor and Loki, and look as to tell them that they’re staying. Thor calls the hammer back to him, and she rests easy in his palm, radiating what feels like a disapproving hum. “They’ve made their choice, brother. We’ll make ours. Luckily I haven’t brought any fish for them to steal from you today.”

Loki huffs, and heads in the opposite direction of the pelicans, to a small knoll, and stands, waiting for Thor, arms crossed over his robed chest. “Hurry, you lout.”

“Why? You’re the one who ran off.” Thor swings the pack toward Loki and lets go, chuckling when Loki dives forward to catch the bag. “If you were starving, you should have carried the bag.”

A nasal, mocking noise comes from Loki, who unrolls a skin from the bag, and flaps it out onto the ground. He plunks himself down, and pulls the flask out of his pocket, taking a little sip. Thor catches up, and falls down to the floor with a thud, his hand pulling the flask from Loki’s, letting the numbing akvavit run down his throat. Thor catches a scowl from Loki when he notices a trail of the clear liquid running down the sliver of exposed chest underneath his robe.

Loki begins to arrange the selection of food out in front of them, picking as he goes. “Have a fig, Loki. Mother was sure you’d love them.” Thor unscrews the jarred honey, and dips his finger into the stickiness, watching the strings of gold ribbon back into the jar. Loki takes a bite of the fig in his hand, and licks the pink juice from his bottom lip. 

“Do you not have a dipper?” Loki stares at Thor’s fingers in the honey. Thor shakes his head, and gestures the jar toward his brother. Loki presses his lips together, and grasps Thor’s hand that had been in the honey, bringing his thick index and middle fingers to his mouth, and slowly, gently sucks the sweet honey from them. 

His jaw loosens, and Thor’s fingers slide out of Loki’s mouth, and he presses them lightly against Loki’s pink bottom lip. “Good?” His voice is a rumble, husky as if he hadn’t just wet his throat with the liquor from the flask.

“The best.” Loki’s breath is warm and quick against Thor’s fingers, and his tongue brushes against his fingertips when he speaks. He trails his fingers down slowly, leaving Loki’s lips parted, and down the jut of his chin, the length of his elegant neck, the dip of the hollow of his throat, and settling at the centre of his chest. His fingers circle against the soft, smooth, hard skin, and he feels Loki’s hard beat fast underneath. His breath hitches when Thor stops his movements, and with his spare hand, he takes the fig from Loki’s open hand.

The pelicans fly away, but they don’t notice.

Loki looks at Thor, his fingers heavy on his chest, and Thor bites into the fruit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took ages, i've been a busy bee and oh boy am i tired!
> 
> i always get hung up on really random aspects of my writing when i do it, and this time it was pelicans. they're horrible birds, ick ick ick!!!
> 
> hoping to do one more part of this, and i'm feeling like it could get saucy. cross ur fingers, babe.
> 
> anyway, if you read and enjoyed, please leave a kudos and a comment! really love that stuff.
> 
> love ya x


	3. it's no words no more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip into the forest with the Warriors Three and Lady Sif.

Loki lies on his side, his eyes are shut tight, and he drapes his cape over his face in an attempt to block out the noise coming through the tiny crack between the tent flaps. 

The drunken poetry of Fandral directed toward a raging Sif, and the boorish laughter bubbling from Volstagg, stemming from Fandral’s failure to do anything other than irritate Sif, vibrates through into the tent. 

Loki tightens the cape over his head and groans from deep within his chest.

He’s sure that if he’d had less of the berry wine, if he was less tired, he’d remember the way to cast a barrier of silence around the whole of the tent. Of course he can remember the incantation for silence of the tent itself, but he cannot completely quiet Fandral’s shockingly terrible sonnets.

His aching limbs sink into the wolf pelt acting as his mattress for the night, and although supremely uncomfortable, he feels himself melt into the floor, the yelling and the guffawing the only thing keeping him from sweet sleep.

He isn’t entirely sure why he’s sleeping on the floor of a humid forest, face wrapped in his cape, avoiding Thor’s friends, when he could be avoiding Thor’s friends in his soft and airy bedchamber, a glass of port and a plate of blue cheese and celery on his bedside, and the opportunity to be unreserved in his shameful lust toward the golden haired buffoon he can hear fumbling at the ties of the tent.

He rolls the cape down to his nose, and then rolls his eyes at his brother.

Thor gives up with the ties, and just sticks his big head through the slightly loosened fabrics. He’s smiling giddily. “Loki, come out.”

Loki raises his eyebrow, and lets the cape pool around his waist. His loose and light undershirt is unbuttoned, and there’s a sheen on his chest from the humidity and thick, post storm air. “So, I come out of the tent. Pray tell, what happens next? Fandral ceases with the seemingly infernal racket that he’s calling poetry, and Sif lets him worm his way into her knickers?” Thor’s face screws up in disgust. “You’re going to call more lightning upon some unassuming, and awfully smelly trolls again?”

“I’ve done enough of that for a few centuries, I’d say.”

“Quite.” Loki’s mouth curls into a smile at Thor’s scrunched up nose. He’d splashed around in the stream for hours before Sif had agreed that he no longer stunk like scorched troll hair. “Tell me brother, why must I leave the sanctuary that is these four fabric walls?”

Thor blinks a few times, turns his head to the outside, and then he’s gone, scrabbling after someone - Loki assumes Fandral by the speed of the running - and laughing. “You dare grab the balls of the son of Odin? You dare?” He bellows, and Volstagg’s laughter booms through their camp.

Loki pokes his head out of the hole in the tent Thor had made, and to the right of the fire, is his brother holding a squirming, laughing Fandral down, and lowering those grabbed Odinson balls towards his face. Fandral tries to cover his face with his hands, but voices his disgust when his wrist brushes Thor’s crotch. “Okay, okay, I yield!” He says, breathless with laughter. “Oh, Loki. You’re still awake.” Fandral pushes Thor away, and sits up, pointing to the campfire. “Thor, Loki’s awake.”

“I know, my friend.” Thor points in the same direction as Fandral. Sif and Hogun look at eachother and shrug. Volstagg’s eyes follow the pointing. “Look, brother, fire--”

“--fireflies!” Fandral yells over Thor, pulling himself up, and straightening his doublet. He clears his throat. “Sif, the fiercest warrior in Asgard, her buxomness unmatched in any realm, when she puts her spear to me, I grow hard, and now, all other ladies underwhelm…” He pauses, and begins to count on his fingers.

“Fandral, I will slit your throat right now. You are unbearable tonight!” Sif grips her spear, and breathes deeply. Fandral winks at her, and she lets go of her spear as if it were frozen. “I can’t even bloody hold onto my weapon without your filthy, infection riddled cock filling with lust! Thor, tell me I’m worthy, so I can lift Mjӧlnir and rid us of this little sex pest.”

Loki presses his lips together, and smirks. Volstagg looks around, and places his hand on Sif’s head. “He means little, my lady.” She narrows her eyes, and turns to face the portly man.

Thor chortles, “You mean his cock is little, Volstagg!” He ruffles Fandral’s floppy blond hair, and strides over to Loki, picking up one of the half drunk bottles of berry wine on his way, lowering himself to the viewing window Loki peers out of.

There are small creases around his eyes from where he’s been laughing, from their lack of sleep, and very light freckles dusting the tops of his cheeks from their day in the sun. “Did you see the fireflies, brother?” His lips are stained from the berries, and Loki wants to pull him through the hole in the tent, and taste his mouth.

“I got a tad distracted.” Loki’s eyes flicker from Thor’s mouth, to his eyes, to find that Thor has been staring at Loki’s mouth too. “Will you be coming to sleep soon?” He fans at his face, and slips his shirt off his shoulders, stretching his neck.

Thor grunts, and his eyes drop down to Loki’s bare chest. “It’s too warm tonight. I’ll put the fire out.” He takes a pull from the bottle of wine, and passes it to Loki through the hole. “I will not be long, brother.”

Loki’s breath catches in his chest, and he runs his finger around the rim of the bottle Thor had passed him. He brushes the ruby red wine onto his lips, and licks at his finger tip.

He barely notices the yelling and arguing when Thor dumps a bucket of water on the campfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wasn't my plan but i liked the vibe.
> 
> i added another chapter bc they're gonna bang soon, but idk i didn't want it to be so immediate in this chapter, though i think that the next chapter will be a direct continuation.
> 
> as always, please leave kudos and a comment, really hypes me up haha!
> 
> love ya x

**Author's Note:**

> ugh so i'm back here, SHAMELESSLY. i'm aiming for this to be about three chapters, and then i'd like to roll on to a post-endgame piece which is probably the biggest idea i've had for something since a very very long time.
> 
> funny fact - i've written a lot of thorki in my time. too much some would argue. but i've never written anything other than au, which i can barely comprehend writing now, so here i am, chortling away.
> 
> yes, anyway - the title is from wax by kilo kish, a song i cannot leave alone.
> 
> i hope you enjoyed, if you did, please leave a comment and a kudos, that'd be sick, so thank u!
> 
> thanks for reading - love u xxx


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